Artist: The Game
Album:  The R.E.D. Album
Song:   Ricky
Typed by: newos_crib_is@hotmail.com

[Intro: excerpt from "Boyz n the Hood"]
"Shit! Rick! C'mon man"

"Ricky! {*gun shots*}
 Help me! Help me! Somebody, help me!
 Ricky, Ricky
 Ricky!"

[The Game]
Blood of a slave, heart of a giant
Had to leave Aftermath, Dre said I was too defiant
That was five years ago, look how fast it go
Destroying Interscope, shot myself like Plaxico
But fuck that, blaze one, where the matches yo?
Hit the freeway and see how fast the Aston go
Roll the window down, clip off the ashes so
you can see all my diamonds and how much cash I blow
How many bitches I fuck, how many cars I drive
How many goons I got, count 'em and they all outside
Niggas try to shut me up like Malcolm
But standing in the window 'K smoking was the outcome
Sometimes I get a little stressed and pop a Valium
Hit Hollywood late night and knock down a stallion
So niggas think twice bout my medallion
or you'll hear Cuba Gooding yelling "Ricky!"... my nostalgia's
a hundred percent Compton, zero percent snitch
Park a Bentley and a Phantom on blocks where I used to pitch
Made the Cincinnati fitted more famous than Griffey did
and just to think, several years ago they tried to split his wig
Two to the chest, struck his heart, one hit his rib
Then I blacked out like a movie, all I could hear

"Pull up on him, let's get him, let's get him, get him man, get him
 Cut him off, cut him off, pull right here, cut him off
 Go man, go"

Feeling all fucked up, woke up to a doctor
All I could think about was if cops took my weed and my choppers
They want me to sing like Sinatra
I told the detective, get this clear like Belvedere vodka
Them five shots then created a monster
Hell's Kitchen coming straight outta Compton
I seen Boyz n the Hood, Morris Chestnut was an actor
2Pac was the real life "Ricky!"
Then they shot down the nigga that shot him, swear to God
If I'm lying then Compton is New York and I'm Rakim
I'm from where niggas get murdered over stock rims
and punched in the jaw just for a cocked brim
Nobody momma let the cops in
We ain't got no options, wanted to be a boxer but I was boxed in
Then my grandmother house went up for auction
and that's what killed her, I'm going back to buy the block then
Too many niggas locked in, dig up Cochran
and defend all my niggas with they face under stockings
Rather face God than twenty-five with no options
If Compton ain't the murder capital, we in the top ten
Drive by with our face painted like a clown
with a tre-pound, forty shells bouncing off the ground
This how my living room sound when my brother got shot down

[Sample of crying from "Boyz n the Hood"]